i can’t tell them
they won’t understand
i don’t even understand myself

*(s.m)

Whispered words of demoralization
Face to face with confrontation.

Never the one to make a sound
But always the last to hold her ground.

Late night thoughts of what would have been
Makes no difference to what happened then.

Sudden insight as to who she is
Secret yearning for timeless bliss.

Wanting the best from everything
The future, the past, from anything.

Hopeless wonders brighten faces
But wishful thinkings lead empty chases.

Late night thoughts
                       turn into
                                  truth
                    ­                 honesty
      everything I'm afraid of

Is it true-
poets, more than others
weep?

beauty they worship
and if it is blemished or defiled
by man's callousness and indifference-
they lose heart
and even in their sleep
they are inconsolable

there is healing
in tears
despite the anguish
over time and past years.

Is it true
poets, more than others
love?

their yearnings
know no rest
and their passions
fearlessly sweep
over the wildest mountains
and the most tempestuous seas
even the bitterest Arctic

they burn like fire
and melt
every lingering piece of snow
they write across the sky
their poignant and painful poems
' Love is life's most sublime gift
and stronger than death'.

Are poets, more than others
lonely?

dwelling in the universe
of words and feelings
they are strangers to the world
even to themselves
as they struggle to find themselves
and unravel life's multifold mysteries.

Are poets, more than others
melancholic?

they dream of a world
beyond time
wrapped in eternally sweet dreams
only to end
in disillusionment and despair
(reality is too harsh and too cruel-
purveyor of the baneful, mundane
the uninspiring, the inane)

Should poets
be scoffed at

because
they long
for the beautiful and sublime
and draw
everyone's attention
to the ugliness
of the world?

She opens a window
and hopes for the sky
to fall in from outside
and it's tailwind bring

her the moon and the clouds
lined with silver, a crowd
of the finest of stars
and a spare pair of wings..

Skin is just a
Color

Age is just a
Number

Girls are just
Human

Religious people are just
Believers

Oh why do we discriminate?
Why won't we let these people come in?

Is it because we are afraid?
Or are we just bad people?

Everyone and everything
Is on one planet

Be happy you're alive
And let everyone in

THE RELUCTANCE OF WORDS

Sometimes, nay, often- words shy away
I have to be patient and wait
I set aside all thoughts--hoping later
to find the gems and celebrate.

With words I live all our life
I learnt just a few as a child--enough then-
just a few simple words  brought such joy and delight
words have outgrown me since--now I have to woo them as a friend.

Poetry,
like ***,
momentarily
destroys
the misery
of the world.
  ~mce